by Fire
Ager nodded. “Who’s first, then? Or is it all of you at the same time?” He hefted the wooden sword in his hand. Its weight gave him some comfort. If he connected with a head or two before he was skewered, he might survive the confrontation.
The woman looked at him strangely. “We don’t understand.”
“You’re going to kill me. Let’s not twaddle around.”
“Kill you? Why?”
“For slaying your chief, his wife, and his son. Pretty good reasons in clan politics, I daresay.”
The woman’s expression changed as she understood. She laughed suddenly, the sound warm and lively. She was pretty, and the scar added something mysterious to her beauty rather than detracting from it. Ager did not want to kill her. “We have come to pay you allegiance.”
“It is to Korigan you should be paying your allegiance.”
“You do not understand. She is our queen. You are our chief.”
Ager blinked at them. “I am not a Chett.”
“You defeated our chief in combat. His wife and child were killed with him. There is no one left of his immediate family. Katan killed his own brother when he was only fourteen to make sure he had no rivals within the clan. You are our chief now.”
“I see,” he said, not really seeing at all. The Chetts stared at him impassively. “Is there some kind of ceremony?” he asked and, uninvited, the thought of ritual scarring or circumcision popped into his head.
The woman shook her head. “You became our chief the moment you killed Katan. No one has risen to challenge you.”
“What if I don’t want to be a chief?”
“There is nothing you can do about it,” the woman said flatly.
“I see,” he repeated. For a moment longer the five of them stood in front of his tent. Ager shuffled his weight to another foot. “I have to rest now,” he said.
“Of course,” the woman said, and the group started walking away.
Ager suddenly realized he had no idea what was expected of him in his new position. “Wait,” Ager said. The group stopped and looked back at him. “What’s your name?” he asked the young woman.
“Morfast,” she said.
“I will come and see you tonight,” he said to the group.
Morfast nodded, and the group left.
For a while longer Ager stood there, bewildered, then shook his head and entered his tent.
Jenrosa’s head was resting against Kumul’s chest. She could hear his heartbeat, and in some way being that close to him was more intimate than their lovemaking. His right hand coiled and uncoiled her hair, his left hand stroked her arm. It seemed strange to her they could share this moment of peace and solitude in the middle of the High Sooq, their tent surrounded by the tents of thousands of others.
“I think the training went well today,” Kumul said after a while. “I have never seen a people so accustomed to being on horseback, but I thought discipline would be a problem. I was wrong.”
Jenrosa said nothing. She did not want to talk about the preparations for war.
“Have you found someone to take on your magic training?” he asked.
“No. There is no Truespeaker among the clans right now.”
“But the White Wolf clan has magickers.”
“I haven’t talked to Korigan about it.” She did not mention that after their last encounter she did not want to talk to Korigan at all.
For a moment they fell silent again, then Kumul asked: “Have you talked with Lynan recently?”
“No. You?”
“No. But I should. He must know that we... that you and I...”
“Are lovers,” she finished for him. Why did he hesitate? “Do you think that’s wise?”
“What do you mean?”
“How will he take it?”
“He is our prince. He has a right to know.”
“He has no such right,” Jenrosa said firmly. “I don’t remember lovers reporting to the queen in Kendra. Why should we do as much for Lynan?”
“It isn’t the same.”
“Because he was interested in me?”
“No.” Kumul sat up.
Jenrosa disentangled herself from his arms and sighed deeply. Their peace and solitude was gone. Lynan might as well have been standing in front of them.
“Because I owe it to him,” Kumul went on. “I did not understand how much he had grown up since his exile, and it caused a breach between us. I tried to keep information from him. That was wrong.” He rubbed his temples with the fingers of one hand. He went on in a quieter voice. “He has changed too much. Is still changing. He needs our support more than ever, or who knows what may become of him.”
“Our love for each other is not a matter of state. It is our business.”
“He is not just our prince,” Kumul said gently, and put his arm around her.
“No. He is your son.” And I am partly responsible for turning him into what he now is. Lynan the White Wolf. Silona’s Lynan. She could not stop a shudder from passing through her. She half expected Kumul to edge away, but instead he pulled her even closer.
“Yes. Ever since his father died, he has been my son.”
A cold finger seemed to trace its way along her spine. The words had sounded more like a premonition than a confession, and she could not help the feeling of dread that settled in the back of her mind. She closed her eyes and tried to pretend that nothing was different.
Korigan could not sleep. The future loomed before her like a dark wall; she stood on the brink of great victory or great disaster, and she could not tell which. The fact that it was a future of her own making made her situation ironic but did not change it. Ever since her father had died she had struggled to secure her throne, and when Gudon’s message had reached her from the Strangers’ Sooq all those months ago she had known immediately she had a way to do it. Gudon saving Lynan’s life and bringing him west with him had been a gift from the gods, and she had used the gift to best effect. But the cost...
She shook her head. There were no choices anymore. She had put her people behind Lynan, and now they must go where Lynan led them. It was a further irony that she secured her own throne by so demonstrably placing it under the will of an outlaw prince. If Lynan lost, Korigan knew her people might suffer terrible retribution at the hands of Areava, and yet if Lynan won the crown of Grenda Lear, his control over the Chetts risked making her own authority obsolete.
Unless she could make events follow a third path, and therein lay the greatest risk of all. It was not a matter of choice anymore; it was a matter of riding over the brink and hoping you were not falling into an abyss.
She felt incredibly older than her twenty-two years.
A lonely guard huddled against the cold directed Ager to Morfast’s tent. He called to her, and the flap was quickly unlaced. He ducked and entered.
“Thank you for seeing me,” he said. “I need to talk to you about...”
As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he realized Morfast was standing in front of him completely naked. He could not help staring at her.
“... about this ... chief business ...”
Morfast said nothing. She tried to look relaxed, but Ager could see she was as tense as the string on a drawn bow. Ager looked away.
“Aren’t you cold?” he asked.
“Of course,” she said testily.
Ager rubbed his nose. “Then why aren’t you dressed?”
“Ah,” she said, “you want to undress me yourself.”
“What?” he said, and looked up. And then he understood. “Oh, fuck.” He quickly looked away again. “I’ve made a terrible mistake. I’m sorry ...”
“You don’t want me?” She made it sound like an accusation.
“No!” He shook his head.
“I’m not beautiful enough for you? I could get someone younger.”
“No!”
“Do you want a man?”
“A man? No, I don’t want a man. I don’t want a woman. And before you as
k, I don’t want a horse. What I want is for you to get dressed.”
He waited until he heard her put clothes on before looking at her again. She had slipped on a poncho. She looked almost as confused as he felt.
“Look, I’m sorry, Morfast. I wanted to see you tonight to ask you about this chief thing. I’ve never been a chief before. Are you sure you want me?”
“For chief or—”
“Yes, for chief!” he said hurriedly.
“If not you, then the Ocean clan must submit to the will of the two circles. They may choose a chief for us from another clan, or make us join with another clan.”
“Who would they choose?”
“Someone who could kill you in single combat, since you killed Katan.”
“I see. And if you join with another clan?”
“Then everything we are will be lost. Our young ones may adjust, but those of us who remember our own traditions and customs will be like children without a mother or father.”
“But I don’t know your customs and traditions,” he pleaded.
“We will teach you,” she said simply.
“God,” he said, and put his head between his hands.
“Do we shame you?”
“No. Never that. But I am with the prince. I cannot desert him.”
“You would not desert him.”
“But he must go east. He must go to Kendra or perish in the attempt. And so must I.”
“Then we will go to Kendra with you, and perish if we must. The gods decide our fate.”
He sat down heavily on her sleeping blanket. She sat down next to him, and he edged away.
“You do not find me beautiful,” she said sadly.
He caught her gaze and shook his head. “That is not true. You are very beautiful. But I cannot take you simply because I am your chief.”
“Then you accept that you are our chief?”
Ager nodded resignedly. “It seems I have no choice. I won’t throw you to the two circles.” He remembered how close Korigan had come to being dethroned. “I have seen for myself how fickle they can be.”
She smiled at him. “All in the clan will be happy. We have a chief again, and our ways will not disappear.”
He stood up. “How many of you are there?”
“Of us,” she corrected him, “there are nearly four thousand, and two thousand of them are warriors. We have over a thousand head of cattle. We are not the biggest clan, nor the richest, but we are one of the oldest, and have much respect in the Oceans of Grass.”
“And who are you, exactly?”
“I was the niece of Katan’s wife, her only living relative. That is why they chose me to come to you today.”
“And who were the others who came with you?”
“Those most respected in the clan for their courage and their wit. I can call them if you wish to see them now.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“What do you wish us to do?”
“To do?”
“You are our chief. You must guide us.”
“Whatever it is you do while camped at the High Sooq. Afterward ...” He paused, still trying to get used to the idea of being chief of a Chett clan. “... afterward, we’ll see.”
He reached for the tent flap, but Morfast’s hand rested on his. “You do not have to go. I am glad you would not force me to sleep with you, but I see now that was not your intention. I would be pleased to share my blanket with you.”
Ager smiled at her. He could see her shape under the poncho and felt the first faint pricking of desire, something he had been without for more years than he could remember. But he could not take her now, and not like this. He gently removed her hand from his and left.
Chapter 14
There were two children, a girl about five with a high fever but resting peacefully, the other a boy about three with a cough.
“And you’re sure neither is in any danger?” Olio asked.
The priest shook his head. “No, your Highness. The girl’s fever has come down in the last hour, and the boy’s cough is improving. They will both be well by week’s end.”
Olio nodded, but his hand still held on to the heart-shaped Healing Key, as if it might be needed at a second’s notice. It felt warm to his touch, even on this cold night. It wants to be used, he thought. But I gave my word. And tonight, at least, there is no temptation to use it.
“And there are no others?”
Again, the priest shook his head.
“Isn’t that rare for winter?”
The priest met his gaze. “Not really. We are coming out of the coldest months of the year. The two times when the greatest sickness comes to the poor are when there is ice on the streets and when the nights are so hot the poor leave their doors and window shutters open to cool their homes. We get a lot of the shaking sickness in summer. Winter is for the chest sickness, mainly.”
“I see.” He turned to the magicker who had accompanied him from the palace. He could not remember his name. “Where is Prelate Fanhow tonight?”
“He had an important meeting with the theurgia, your Highness. Something to do with the army we are sending north in the spring.”
Olio remembered then that Edaytor had said something to him about the meeting. For a moment his thoughts went to the planning of the campaign; he had been involved peripherally so far, but from now he would have to attend war councils; after all, he was going to be the army’s general. The idea used to amuse him, but as the time came nearer for the army to march, the prospect of leading experienced men into battle was weighing him down. He thought of himself as a healer, not as a warrior. He believed his role in life was to bring people back from the brink of death and not lead them to it. But his sister—the queen—had given him the commission and he could not surrender it.
“We have some refreshment ready for you, your Highness,” the priest said, and led him to the kitchen. There were bowls of fish stew already laid out on the rough wooden table, with thick seed bread and dough cakes on plates. And a flagon of red wine sat in the middle.
“Excellent,” Olio said carefully, then pointed to the flagon. “But take that away. Some new cider would better clear my throat.”
“Of course.” The priest disappeared with the flagon. Olio waited for the twinge of regret, but it did not come.
Some things get better, he told himself.
The priest reappeared with a small cider cask, and the prince sat down with him and the magicker. At first his two companions talked too deferentially, but as the night wore on they became more comfortable, and Olio, to his surprise, actually found himself enjoying the meal.
* * *
Areava placed her hands over her belly. Yes, she thought. A girl. She was filled with a sense of wonder, and laughed with joy. Sendarus, asleep next to her, mumbled something and turned, flopping an arm across her chest. She laughed even harder.
How long had she been pregnant? God only knew. She and Sendarus had slept together so often since falling in love, at night, in the morning, once in the straw in the royal stables, once in his chambers while his father was waiting to see them.
She felt the baby would come in early to midsummer. Maybe her daughter would share her own birth day. The kingdom would have another Ushama. And what sisters and brothers would Usharna have? Another Areava, perhaps, and a Berayma, even an Olio. And why not a Marin? Or even an Orkid? That would put a smile on the chancellor’s face, and—just as pleasing—a grimace on the faces of every noble in the Twenty Houses. ‘
And by the end of autumn Haxus should be subdued and Lynan killed. Nine months and the kingdom would find again the peace it had enjoyed under the first Usharna, and have a new heir as well.
“Maybe we won’t stop at defeating Haxus’ armies,” she told her daughter. “Maybe we’ll take Haxus itself, and then all but the desert of the Southern Chetts will belong to Grenda Lear. I will make you ruler of Haxus, and that can be your training for my throne when my time has come.” The
idea appealed to Areava; one fault of her mother had been to keep the reins of control too tightly in her own hands. Be-rayma’s apprenticeship had been too late and too little, she appreciated that now.
Areava let herself drift to sleep, her husband’s arm still across her, and dreamed of the future.
* * *
Dejanus sat at an ill-lit corner table of the Lost Sailor Tavern, his cloak wrapped around his huge frame. No one who saw him enter could doubt who he was, but newcomers would not notice him. He sipped slowly on a good Storian wine, which as constable of the Royal Guard he could now afford, and waited for the woman he had been told worked here most nights.
She came in close to midnight, looking hurried, and disappeared into the kitchen. A little while later she reappeared dressed in a stained white apron and carrying a wooden platter with change on it. Dejanus watched her as she moved from table to table, taking orders, smiling easily, pocketing tips. She was buxom and pretty in a voluptuous way. It figures, he thought to himself. She’s his type. When she at last realized the dark corner table was occupied, she came over.
“I’m sorry, gentle sir, I did not see you here out of the light. Can I get you something?”
“Another wine.” He handed her his empty cup and she left. When she returned, he paid for the wine and then held up a silver crown. Her face broke into a wide smile and she reached for the coin, but Dejanus pulled his hand back.
“Sit down.”
The woman’s smile disappeared. “I see,” she said unhappily, but sat down anyway.
“I need your help,” he said.
“I can imagine.”
Dejanus laughed humorlessly. “Not that kind of help, Ikanus.”
The woman stiffened. “How do you know my name?”
“We once had a friend in common.”
“I have a lot of friends.”
“This one was called Kumul Alarn.”
The woman gasped and made to stand up, but Dejanus’ hand shot out and held her down. “Who are you?”
With his free hand Dejanus showed her the coin again. “A new friend. To replace the old.”
